


warm me up and breathe me

by nefertiti



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Drug Addiction, Grantaire Ship Week, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, combeferre is a godsend, recovery is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:22:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He laughed when Combeferre had asked outright and replied: “If I end up with someone half as fucked up as I am we’d just stay home, cry all the time and then we’d end up dramatically committing double suicide together.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm me up and breathe me

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for a lot of self loathing and attempts at coping with addiction and depression and just really fucked up people

* * *

Grantaire knew addiction. It ran in his blood. His father was a drunk, his mother was a cokehead, and he managed to perfectly round off his legacy of dysfunction by being both. It was ironic really, how much he hates them for it considering how well he followed in their footsteps. He hates them because of how well they managed to function regardless. His mother was the CEO of a PR firm and his father was a decorated war vet. They both managed to find the perfect balance between dependence and success.

 

What’s worse was that his mother tried so hard to support him. _‘Some people can handle it and some people can’t sweetie. It’s not your fault._ ’ (And he _would_ be the ungrateful shit who’d hate that support) She paid for his rehab again and again. She sent him texts every time he moved telling him where they held Narcotics Anonymous meetings. When he went home the last time, shaking and crying, his teeth shattering together and his skin crawling, trying again to quit, his father ignored his very existence, but she held his head and rubbed his back while he threw up. She was good in all of the ways that he wasn’t and it fucking sucked.

 

It’s why he avoided home as much as he possibly could.

 

Watching her cope and watching her succeed where he couldn’t was like a knife to the gut every time.

 

Meeting Jehan was like a godsend, because Grantaire knew addiction and he knew another addict when he saw one. Jehan was _also_ better at it than Grantaire was, and he was _also_ very kind about it, but it never stung the way it did with his mother. Maybe it was because unlike him and his mother, Jehan and Grantaire had never used together so they weren’t any form of trigger to the other.

 

When they started living together they slept in the same bed. Grantaire used his room for his studio and Jehan didn’t like sleeping on his own. They went to meetings together. (Jehan said that he efficiently cut their twelve step program in half so he would be better in half the time than anyone expected. Grantaire was dubious.) They spent a lot of time together. They breathed easily in each other’s company. There were no uncomfortable, intrusive questions because they already knew the answers. There were never any disappointed stares or I-expected-better-from-you’s because they both knew that that tended to hurt more than it helped. They had just fit in a strange sort of way. They understood each other in a way that no one ever had before and neither of them thought to question it. Their friends however did. He heard them whispering about it sometimes and they were usually far off.

 

He laughed when Combeferre had asked outright and replied: “If I end up with someone half as fucked up as I am we’d just stay home, cry all the time and then we’d end up dramatically committing double suicide together.”

 

And that had put an end to all of those questions. Grantaire had felt bad about it later. He didn’t have a filter, he just said whatever was in his head at the time and made people uncomfortable. He wasn’t like Combeferre or Jehan who knew how to wield their words so carefully. And he was lying in any case. He and Jehan were...well sometimes it was hard to describe what they were. They would kiss sometimes, sometimes they would do more, sometimes they’d just hold each other (he refused to call it cuddling), but they’d never put a label on what they were. They just _were_.

 

Combeferre had fit into their circle of melancholy in a very easy way. He’d started watching them closely and they both noticed it. It didn’t bother Jehan, and seeing as he knew Combeferre better than Grantaire did, he trusted his judgement and decided not to let it bother him either. By the time he’d started conveniently coming over to their apartment with food on the days that neither Jehan nor Grantaire felt like eating, or bringing over their homework on the days they missed school, or staying the night when both of them felt that itching need to put something, _anything_ in their bodies, neither of them minded. In fact they welcomed it. And when Combeferre had just fell into bed with them one night trapped between Grantaire’s arms and Jehan’s legs, it just became another thing that they didn’t question.

 

With them there were good days and there were bad days and they coped as well as they could. So it was as easy as it could possibly be. Simple. And it worked. Sometimes. Sometimes it worked.

 

Today was one of the hard days. By the time they went to bed his head was heavy, his bones felt like lead and he was about five seconds from jumping in a river and letting the weight of it- _of everything_ \- drown him and Jehan didn’t look like he was faring any better. And this was new. Different. Jehan, who usually held himself together as well as he could looked just about ready to drown with him. These were the days when he didn’t leave the bed, didn’t eat, didn’t do anything really. He just lay there and breathed. In and out. In and out. Jehan was silent next to him, the way his body was practically vibrating was the only proof he had that he was awake. Grantaire made the effort and turned towards him and met his eyes. They looked demented.

 

He didn’t need to ask anything because Jehan already knew what he was going to say. He jumped out of bed jerkily, still looking at Grantaire with those frantic eyes.

 

“I need...fuck!” He kicked the foot of the bed, tears filling his eyes. “Fuck. I just. I can’t do this today.” He said stalking out of their room.

 

It was around midnight which was basically the perfect time to go out, find some random dealer and buy what he needed. Grantaire knew _he_ needed to get out of the bed. Get out and go comfort him and he was trying. Practically willing his feet to move, but every movement he made was so sluggish. It felt like someone turned everything on slow motion. He felt useless as he trudged out and saw Jehan sitting on the couch pinching his wrists despondently. He had the duvet wrapped around himself and he dropped down next to Jehan and asked.

 

“You want a snack?”

 

“No.”

 

“You want to go to a meeting tomorrow?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay.” He sighed. Because going to a meeting today was so not something he wanted to do. “How about we just sit here. We could just sit here and do nothing.”

 

“Will that take my mind off of it?”

 

“Probably not, but doing nothing is weirdly exhausting.”

 

“Yeah.” Jehan acquiesced; resting his head on his shoulders before Grantaire drifted back to sleep.

 

When he woke up, the sun was shining; Jehan was curled up next to him, his arms slung around his waist and Grantaire’s blanket covering them both. He was tired enough that he only moved to pull it over his shoulders. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes when he heard the front door open. He knew it was Combeferre and he was comforted by that fact. Yesterday was rough enough for them to deal with today alone. Still, he kept his eyes closed as he listened to the movements in the kitchen. He was tired, but he felt lighter than he did last night. Without jostling Jehan, he rolled off the couch and joined Combeferre in the kitchen.  

 

“How was last night?” He asked from where he was separating breakfast pastries on to three separate plates.

 

Grantaire shrugged noncommittally and Combeferre sighed.

 

He put everything in the fridge, took Grantaire’s hand and dragged him to his room.

 

“The coffee will get cold.” Grantaire protested weakly when Combeferre wrapped his arms around him. The thing about Grantaire, is that he hated accepting comfort when he didn’t deserve it. Jehan was the one who had a shittier day. And he was absolutely useless about it. If anyone deserved this, it was him.

 

“Yes.” Combeferre replied, tightening his grip.

 

“The pastries will get hard.” He tried again.

 

“Yes.”

 

Grantaire let out a tiny whimper (which he will take to his grave thank you very much) before pulling Combeferre down onto the bed and flinging his arms and legs over him like an octopus. Combeferre huffed and put his glasses on the bedside before nuzzling into his chest. It was soft, and weirdly domestic and a smile threatened to break from Grantaire’s face when Jehan crawled into bed with them a few minutes later and sprawled himself all over the two of them. Grantaire even managed a tiny laugh when Jehan immediately fell asleep and started snoring lightly, before burrowing himself into their warmth.

 

They still weren’t okay. Far from it actually. But from where they were lying, tangled up in each other in more ways than one, they felt like it. 

**Author's Note:**

> -Cuddling-friends-jehan/combeferre/grantaire-who-are-more-than-friends-but-have-never-really-defined-it-so-they-keep-calling-themselves-friends-even-though-they-are-so-not-just-friends is a new trope I have decided to create. I'm also working on creating a shorter description of it, but baby steps.  
> -I broke out of my writing funk to write this because I think this week is the best thing ever. All the R ships need love.  
> -This started as a cuddle/fluff piece but i genuinely don't know how to involve Grantaire and happiness in the same story. It doesn't even make a tiny bit of sense to me.  
> -If I write anything else for the week I'll try for some happy though. Grantaire deserves some happy.  
> -If you have any questions please feel free to ask. Comments and constructive criticism are both greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.


End file.
